


To Live is To Serve

by StrokeAndQuill



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blow Jobs, Creampie, Domination, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Facials, Female Masturbation, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Vaginal Sex, Willing Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:54:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22403719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrokeAndQuill/pseuds/StrokeAndQuill
Summary: Vignettes of the life of an eager and willing sexual slave in Rome, around 40 B.C.E.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Roman Slave/Roman Patrician
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	1. In the Atrium

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome. This work contains themes of slavery and domination, and exists as a work of fiction which may represent the authors interests, but not their beliefs. Slavery in Rome was a much more complex issue than is presented here, and this work is not meant to condone slavery in any form, except for between consenting and willing adults. Please enjoy.

Nabila knelt at the foot of her master’s favorite couch as he rested on it with his back against the painted stone wall. At either side of her were his legs, with his sandals showing much of his skin, paler than her own olive complexion but still tanned by his work in the field. Even in the waning of his manhood, nearing his sixtieth year, he was still virile and strong, and spent much time executing his duties as a Legatus, overseeing a legion of the glorious army of Rome.

His toga was unwound and spooled around him on the couch, revealing his toned form to the cool air of the atrium where they sat. A breeze came in from the open front door and washed away the stuffiness of the early summer heat. As she slid her hand up and down his pale shaft the light from above glittered on painted nails of her reddish brown skin. Her face was flushed with excitement as she worked, her smooth cheeks showing the barest hint of red on her dark complexion. Her mouth hung open just a fraction, and tiny pants of excitement were drawn from her lips.

Nabia was still fully clothed, but even in such a state much was revealed about her. Her dress hung loosely, with a deep cut along the back and a low front that held her breasts in place with bindings, showing off a deep and proud cleavage while meeting the barest understanding of modesty. The bottom of the dress was also open so that as she moved or walked her legs could been seen, bronzed by the sun, smooth and oiled to shine. They were bereft of hair, as all of her was save the top of her head. In the position she was in now her legs were fully exposed, knees upon a soft pillow on the floor as she worked. 

Her master sighed, and reaching down a hand he brushed back a lock of her dark hair as she leaned her head forward towards his manhood. He was newly returned from a difficult day, and she could read it on his face when he had entered the room. At a nod and word from his noble wife, Nabila had approached him as he sat down to recover from the day trials. His wife had watched for a moment to ensure that the slave would perform her work adequately and then departed to oversee the kitchen’s work in finalizing the evening’s meal.

The Lady Nissa, wife to Legatus Philo, knew that Nabila would perform her job eagerly and well, but it was still her responsibility to oversee the household slaves and she made no exceptions, even for her husband’s favorite. She could see the stress leaving the home’s patriarch under the younger woman’s touch, however, and was content. 

Philo had brought Nabila from Damascus over two decades before, when she was but an infant at her mother’s breast. That mother had served in this role before her with the same eager enthusiasm, but when Nabila came of age she had passed the duty on gracefully, turning to other household matters. Indeed, even so long after its conclusion, the Third Mithridatic War had been of a great boon to the family of Legatus Philo. He was a younger man then, his sons still but children in Rome, who now commanded Centurions of their own, and his wife still eager for his body - though she often shared Nabila with him still, or took her own pleasure from the Syrian woman when it took her interest. She was not frigid, but had just lost the raw lust of youth while her noble husband had not - but that’s what slaves were for, after all.

The atrium around them was adorned with other artifacts of the war - pottery painted with beautiful depictions of the Near East, swords of brilliant forging in strange styles whose blades were patterned like flowing water, and more gold than any Roman Patrician could hope to spend in his lifetime. The slaves were his greatest conquest, however. Nearly his entire household staff came from the blood of Damascus now, and had proved to be more than capable in their tasks. The women were especially noteworthy - sensual and domestic, and both exotically attractive as well as intelligent and able to quickly learn and adapt to Roman society. They seemed to crave the domination and thrive in it.

Philo could still remember the sacking of Damascus. A quarter of the city was aflame as the Roman army marched the streets, pillaging their loot to return home, spoils of conquest. Philo was younger then, under the command of Gnaeus Pompeius, or Magnus as he had been titled. The lust for conquest ran high in him still when he was young. He had kicked down the flimsy door to the domicile and seen a beautiful woman standing there, frightened but showing little of her fear, steady and still. Philo had been struck by her voluptuous beauty from the first. She was full bodied, shapely and endowed, and her clothing in this warm climate left far less to the imagination than any Roman dress would. She held a babe cradled in her left arm and clutched a long kitchen knife in her right. They had locked eyes for a moment, a contest of wills and domination that seemed to stretch on for uncounted minutes. Fire seemed to rage between them as they stared at each other unblinking and forceful. But after a time she yielded, her eyes looking down and away from him as a flush rose in her cheeks. 

He had crossed the room in a few steps, and grasped her right arm by the wrist, wrenching the knife into his own hand. He had told her in halting Aramaic that he owned her now, and she had just nodded in assent and followed him willingly. He had later learned that her husband had been killed in the Battle of Tigranocerta, where Philo had earned much glory. She considered it no great loss, as she had not been betrothed to him by her own choice, and he was weak and foolish. In her eyes his only worthwhile accomplishment was the part he had played in conceiving their daughter - a disappointing experience at the time that eventually produced something strong and beautiful.

And now, decades later, that child she had held was a woman, knelt in front of Philo and servicing him with wanton eagerness. He looked down at her as her dark hair bobbed up and down in his lap, a mess of curls with flowers braided along one side to celebrate the waning spring. He saw she had one of her own hands between her legs, having worked herself into a frenzied desire in her task. It was not uncommon for her to do so when pleasuring him, and he enjoyed watching her work her hips back and forth against her own fingers as she served. 

He reached a hand down and curled some of her hair into his fist, gently by firmly, and began to help guide her head up and down. Her mouth was about his shaft as her tongue ran across his skin. Her free hand fondled his scrotum gently, rolling it around in her fingers to heighten his pleasure. It felt tight and heavy today. The Legatus was eager for a release to ease his mind and Nabila was just as eager to bring it to him.

She began to increase her pace, taking pleasure in the feeling of her hair being pulled lightly in his hand and the small contented sighs he made under her ministrations. The hand pleasuring herself felt slick and wet and she longed to taste it but was loathe to remove it from her slit.

Finally she made her choice, slowly slipping her mouth off of the Roman’s cock with a soft pop. Her left hand, wet and covered, began to stroke his shaft, covering it in her juices as the right continued to roll his balls between her fingers slowly. Once she was content that he was fully coated in her desire she moved her hands to his thighs and plunged her mouth on her once again, tasting the sweet mix of her own lust with his heady flavor, imagining that she was on her knees pleasing him after he had just ravaged her. 

Deep she went along his cock on her first plunge, and with every plunge after she went deeper. First half, then half the remaining again. By the fourth bob of her head she had found the base, the tip of his long shaft in her throat while her nose pressed against his hair and skin. His musk filled her senses. 

She held there for a long moment, her tongue still working madly inside her mouth about the base of him. Her chin pressed against his scrotum and she felt it tense further and pulse. He was twitching in her mouth as well, and she knew her reward for faithful service was coming soon. His hand, still deep in her hair, tugged at her slightly, and she knew how he wanted to finish. She slowly slid off of him, her tongue gliding along the base as she went until his cock sprung free and stood stiff in the air. She looked up at him, her cosmetics and face dyes running slightly and giving her the look of an eager she-wolf. 

She took him in both hands and began to pump eagerly. He was pointed at her face, ready to finish the job of debasing her image even further. The thought drew her deeper into excitement as she imagined sitting as subject for a sculpture with her master’s seed covering her. No proud patrician sculpture would this be, lining the streets with the warriors and politicians of the past. A testament to whoredom instead, a bust of a woman revealed and wanton, covered in lust.

The thought drove her mad, and she yearned to slip her hands back between her legs but knew there was no time for that. Her thighs rubbed together in a weak approximation of pleasure but it was just enough to stave off the feeling for a few moments until she could finish her work. Her eyes locked on his own as he looked down at her. His stoicism was waning and he had a soft and kind smile on his face as he watched her, like a doting father proud of his child’s work. It filled her with warmth and prideful desire.

She increased her speed, knowing the time was now. He had been about to erupt when in her mouth and the brief respite of leaving her throat would not have stepped him back far. His head fell back as a deep sigh escaped his lips, his eyes closed to focus on the pleasure. Each stroke seemed to wipe away the days stress and pain of dealing with Roman politics. He opened his eyes for a moment and saw that his wife was watching from one of the room’s alcoves, a soft smile on her lips at his pleasure. He smiled back at her in turn and then he was undone.

The first long rope of his seed leapt forward and left a long line traveling from chin to forehead on the Syrian slave, drawing across her lips and nose on the center of her face. Some of it landed in her open mouth and her tongue darted out, catching what she could and taking more off her lips as the second wave landed on her left cheek, more of a splatter than a line this time. Another thick shot followed that, this one traveling with less distance and landing mostly on her chin. It dripped down in slow and viscous drops, falling into her cleavage just above the line of her dress, slipping below in the generous space. 

It felt warm on her skin. One last spurt of cum came forward, though it oozed out onto her hands rather than shooting onto her face. She relished the feeling on her face and body and in the knowledge that she had brought him to release. She looked up from the cum on her hands at him and slowly released his shaft, and he was smiling contendly. His hand had released its grip on her hair and instead brushed a lock back over her ear and off of her face before it became stuck with his seed. She took a finger and scooped some of the cum off of her cheek, licked it clean as he watched and then slowly rose to her feet, most of his lust still covering her face. More slipped down from her chin onto her chest as she bowed for him and turned to return to her chamber.

She saw his wife, the Lady Nissa, had been watching them and she smiled warmly at her, and was granted such a smile and nod in return as the older woman walked forward towards her husband. She had done well, and she looked forward to stripping nude in her chamber shared with other female pleasure slaves and bringing herself to climax with her master’s seed still covering her, even if the others watched. Perhaps, especially if the other’s watched.

As she reached the doorway she heard the Patrician call her name and she stopped and turned. He was standing, dressing himself with his wife’s assistance.

“Nabila,” he said, his voice sure and commanding, the weariness of his arrival home gone. “Tomorrow, we go to the Colosseum. I will be sharing a box with Hectus Suelius and our wives. Dress yourself accordingly.” She nodded, bowed, and removed herself from the room, eagerness for the next dawn welling inside her.


	2. At The Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nabila joins Philo at the Colosseum, ensuring he is entertained.

The crowd erupted once more into applause, cheers, and derisive booing as the gladius of one of the arena’s warriors bit into his opponent’s flesh. Lightly armed and unarmored save for a helm and a small round shield, it had only taken one foolish mistake to receive a mortal blow that sent him sprawling backwards, screaming in agony. He rolled on the ground in pain, leaving blood in the coarse red dirt while the victor stood over him, raising a gory short sword into the air and screaming in defiant victory. He looked up towards the Emperor, Imperator Caesar Divi filius Augustus, who raised his hand to give judgement on the fallen.

Emperor Augustus held his hand aloft for a brief moment, and the crowd continued to shout into a cacophonous din, most demanding blood. From her position in the  Maenianum primum - the second tier of seats, just above the Emperor’s Podium - nestled in  Legatus Philo’s private box, Nabila could see the Caesar’s face turn just slightly into a smile as he turned his outstretched thumb downward. More cheering came forth from the bloodthirsty Romans, and the gladiator turned and drove his gladius down into the chest of his foe, which heaved once and then never again.

Nabila watched all this while sitting in Philo’s lap, the thin material of her summer dress rubbing against his toga, the cloth separating her ass from his cock by less than a digit of length. Idly, his hand had slipped beneath the hem of her dress and fondled her breasts as they both watched the games, and as she stared down at the gladiator waving at the crowd he tweaked her nipple hard, eliciting a gasp.

“Would you fuck that gladiator, slave? I see you drinking him in like cheap wine.” The Legatus’s words held no anger, only light amusement. His hand continued to play with her nipple lightly, occasionally giving it a small twist.

“If my master commanded, I would. Is that your command?” She affected an eager tone of voice, playing with his question. Slowly she ground her rear into him, feeling his hardness push against her. The hair of his leg below the hem of his toga rubbed against her smooth and supple skin, scratching her gently. She loved these games, the teasing and the foreplay, seeing how far she could go with him.

“I know you would. Perhaps I should instead ask if you desire to fuck that gladiator,” he replied, his voice still smiling. His free hand wrapped into her dark and curly hair, grabbing hold but not pulling. He held her fast, pulling her back gently so that his chin sat on her shoulder, his face by her own.

“He did win a large sum of denarii for you from Senator Suelius. It would be my duty to reward him for such valor in combat. How could I not enjoy doing my duty for such a strong and stalwart warrior?” As she spoke she watched the gladiator, who was now leaving the field. In truth, he was quite handsome, his helm having been removed during his victory march around the arena. His body was chiseled as if from marble, and still shone with sweat. He had dark hair, night black, which was matted and tangled with sweat as well, giving him a tousled and roguish look that married well with his cocky grin. Many of the plebeian women in the crowd seemed to agree, shouting lustful catcalls at him as he went past. 

From their right came an annoyed grunt, as Hectus Suelius, soon to be 70 denarii poorer due to an ill-fated wager, expressed his annoyed disapproval. “You let your slave speak too often and too freely, Philo. You need to show authority.” His own slave was on her knees in front of him, her head bobbing up and down in his lap. In contrast to Nabila’s olive skin and dark hair, this woman was of fair Celtic stock - her body was pale and light, save where freckles danced across her shoulders and neck, erupting across her face as if a painter had flicked their brush towards her. Her hair was a shock of bright red, bound in a long braid that snaked down her naked back, pinned at the base by her hands which were fastened tightly behind her back. Suelius had made a show of that when they arrived at the box - stripping her of her garments and tying her hands, before pushing her on the floor in front of him. The Celtic woman had been silent the entire time, save for the occasional choking gasp when the Senator had been too rough.

“Perhaps you should learn from him, husband. The Legatus’s slaves seem fair treated, and it could be a reason they don’t flee from his home as so many of yours have been want to do.” From behind them came the voice of the senator’s wife, Decima Suelius. She was a young woman, far younger than her husband, or of Nabila’s owners - the Legatus or his wife. Nabila guessed she was of an age with herself, though whelping two stout Roman sons had given her the shapely body of motherhood. Nabila found her intriguing, for she had noticed that the woman’s eyes did not linger on her husband, nor the legatus, nor the gladiators. Instead, they seemed often to be turned to Nabila, drinking her in and exploring her body in snatched moments where the attention of others was turned away. It was no surprise, at least, that she did not lust for her husband. In contrast with the Nabila’s master, Legatus Philo, Senator Suelius had let age ravage him. He had grown fat on Roman plenty, and his body was bulbous and an ill thing to look upon. His hair was mostly gone, and what little remained was stringy and poorly kept. His pudgy fingers gripped either side of his slaves head as he thrust, taking out his anger at his wife’s rebuke and his financial loss on the only person who could do nothing in return.

Lady Nissa, Philo’s wife, sensed the potential for an upsetting argument and with decades of social grace turned Demica’s attention aside with a question about a flower arrangement she had seen at their home.

Another wave of pity welled in Nabila for the other slave, watching her be so mistreated. She pondered for a moment before leaning her head backwards, resting it on Philo’s own shoulder with her lips near his ear. Quietly, so others could not hear, she whispered to him. “It is a shame that such a pretty little barbarian is wasted on the senator.” As she spoke, a hand snaked behind her back, between her and the Legatus. She laid it on his clothing so that it wrapped around his hard shaft and rubbed lightly. “She is exotic, and would be very interesting to teach.” Slowly she moved her hand up and down, teasing at him ever so slightly. His hand on her breast grabbed her nipple tightly once more and pinched, causing another excited moan from her. 

“So quickly you’ve forgotten your gladiator, I see,” Philo whispered back. She could hear the strain and desire in his voice. “Now you turn your attention to her? Very greedy you’ve become, my slave.” His hips pushed into her slightly, his lust growing.

“You’re right,” she pouted quietly, “I am terribly greedy, master. All I dream of is teaching that flame-haired woman how to pleasure you. Suelius is ruining her.” Indeed, the Senator seemed to be jerking her around with little heed paid to anything else as he used her mouth. Nabila could see tears in the girl’s eyes. She ran her hand up and down across the toga more quickly, but still her touch was light, not enough for real pleasure. “I could teach her to use her mouth kindly. We would have to practice often, of course,” she continued, and her tongue darted out of her mouth, it’s tip licking at his earlobe. “Until she had mastered every technique I know. And then we’d have to prove to you how effective she’d learned. She’d pleasure you while I watched and gave critique, until you burst all over her.” Her grip tightened and her pace quickened further, feeling that he was rock hard and hearing the rumble of desire in his breathing. “Then I’d have to lick it all off of her, to ensure that it was - “ she squealed as Philo growled and lifted her off of his lap, standing up in one swift motion and pushing her over so she was bent over the stone edge of the box’s open window.

The heads of Lady Nissa and Lady Decima turned at the sudden sound and movement. Nabila turned back her head and looked at them, making sudden eye contact with Lady Decima as she did so and drawing her tongue’s tip over her lips. The Roman noblewoman’s face blushed with heat, her cheeks turning a rosy red, but she didn’t break eye contact. 

Nabila, however, did. Philo grasped her shoulders, having already pulled away the bottom of her dress and exposing her naked body beneath. Her legs and ass were a dark bronze and the bright sun was warm on her skin. Philo drew her up, so that her back was against his chest and taking both hands, he grasped the cleavage of her dress and tore it asunder, exposing her chest. Dark nipples stood out on her breasts, tense and eager with excitement. Her own hands rose and rested on his was he groped her for a brief moment, running her fingers across the rough skin of his hand. 

The moment was short. He leaned his head down to her shoulder and growled “No more teasing, slave,” before pushing her over the stone windowframe of the private box once more. She hung half-out and half-in the box now, her upper body and breasts exposed for the patricians and plebeians of Rome alike. Many nearby turned their heads from the chariot race which had begun below to hoot and holler at her - some made disparaging remarks, calling her a “Damascan Whore” or “Vile Seductress” while others yelled encouragement, or asked her to perform some depravity or another for their amusement.

Philo had grabbed her hips and lifted them into the air, lining up his cock with her slit. They needed no more foreplay; her teasing had made him like a stone pillar, rigid and taut, while her own long handling by him had grown her wetness. His head entered easily and she let out a groan of pleasure and he slowly began to move back and forth, more of his shaft slipping into her with each gentle thrust. Behind them, the wives had returned to their conversation, and Nabila was far too distracted to follow it. To their side, the Senator seemed entirely absorbed in his own pleasure, paying them no heed. 

In response to the jeering of the crowd, Nabila’s hands found her own breasts and began to play with them as people cheered her on. The Legatus’s pace had begun to increase and each thrust caused her to bounce back and forth towards the crowd. She groped and pinched at her own tits and moaned excitedly as people watched. Philo held her up so that the tips of her feet did not even touch the ground and she felt exposed, helpless, and incredibly, desperately lustful because of it. The old soldier’s fingertips bit into her waist with a tight grip that furthered her excitement.

Fully hilted inside her, he began to fuck her more steadily - quick but consistent thrusts that had passionate strength behind them. Their bodies slapped together, the noise of it overwhelmed by the crowd but the feeling still hitting her in rhythmic bursts - the _thwack, thwack, thwack_ of his hips hitting against her ass. She lost herself in the moment, releasing her nipples and grabbing the side of the box, the rough hewn stone of the colosseum biting into her skin and she gripped it like a vice. 

She felt one of Philo’s hands release her hip, his other holding tight to keep her lifted in the air. His now free hand grasped her hair and pulled it backwards, roughly, but he knew she enjoyed it and the limits she could take. She arched back, her body turned into a crescent by his grip on her hips and her hair. As he loved to do, he snaked his hand deep into her curls and wrapped them around his fingers, giving him a dozen anchors with which to control her like a doll.

Each thrust pushed her body forward, causing her hair to pull against her as he held his hand fast, unmoving. The bottom of her breasts were scratched by the stone box, like hundreds of fingernails running against her soft skin and tantalizing her. The small pains were delicious enhancements to the pleasure of his shaft continuing to bore into her. She was moaning lustfully, without care at all for who heard or saw - an audience just made everything better.

Indeed, when she turned her head to look to the right, she could see her audience had grown somewhat. The Senator had finished with his slave while Nabila was being manhandled, and she sat on the floor, still naked and bound but free for a moment from her porcine owner. Her pale eyes were fixed on Nabila and the Legatus, watching them fuck without a care in the world around them. Nabila locked gazes with her for a moment and the slave looked at her unsteadily, but held her eyes. She could see the pain there, the hatred for her situation; this woman had once known true freedom out in the Gallish forests. There were other things bubbling beneath the surface as well - including a jealousy for Nabila’s situation with such a better Roman lord than her own.

At a particularly deep thrust of Philo’s cock, Nabila’s attention and gaze were broken as she let out a sharp cry of lust driven pleasure. She wondered if Decmia Suelius was watching as well, and imagined Lady Nissa trading a night of Nabila’s service to the Senator’s wife for her latest flower arranging secrets. How would the young noblewoman choose to use her? Would she be gentle and hesitant, or rough and demanding? Would she want to explore Nabila’s body, or would she rather the slave spend her time pleasuring her?

The thought combined with the rough treatment and fucking at Philo’s hands was enough to send Nabila over the edge. Her moans started with a quiet “yes, yes,” before building into a screaming mess of moaning and gasping as her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, crashing down in one point and then spreading across her body before slowly fading away. Her ecstatic screaming elicited more jeering from the crowd, including some clapping from a few of the women nearby. Nabila wanted to engage with them and revel in their attention, but Philo hadn’t slowed his pace and only a moment after her first climax had left her another came in, sharper and more direct, but quicker to fade. 

“More…” she was barely able to whisper, though loud enough for Philo to hear it. She knew it was dangerous to try to take the upper hand with him when his lust was up, but in truth even bringing forth anger from him excited her.

Indeed, his hand gave one more sharp tug of her hair before releasing his grasp, but there was no respite as it immediately came down open palmed against her bare ass. The sharp sound of the slap, combined with Nabila’s crying gasp, brought a moment of hush silenced to the box, and she writhed knowing that Decima’s attention had been turned back for a moment, even if she couldn’t see her.

Indeed, from behind them she heard a brief “Nissa, your husband is out of co-” before suddenly being cut off, presumably by the wife of the Legatus telling her to watch and say nothing. Philo’s hand returned, not with a stinging strike but instead the soft caress of his thumb running across where he had spanked her. The calluses of his hand scratched her skin, but it was gentle and kind, and she shivered under it just as she had the rough handling a moment before. Then his hand grasped her again, and she felt him redouble his effort and knew that he was close.

“Please,” she begged of him, her voice sensuous and desperate, “please fill me with your cum, Master. Deep inside me, I want it, I can feel how near you are…” Her voice died off into a whining quiet, one of her hands leaving the stone to reach beneath her body and fondle him gently as he fucked her. That grasp was enough to break down his last reserves and she felt the first gush of him release inside her, filling her up with a warm and pleasant feeling of lust and desire. He hilted himself deep in her, and a few more pulses followed. He never ceased to amaze her with his virility, despite his years. She could feel herself become full, with some of the cum leaking, pushed out around his cock already and dripping down onto her legs. They held like that for a long moment, the only sound coming from outside the box, the crowd watching the chariot race and shouting at the riders.

She groaned as he slipped out from her, feeling more of his seed drip out of her onto the ground. She wiggled her ass in the air for a second before sweeping herself back into a standing position, reaching up and adjusting her hair as her breathing returned to normal. Her dress was still askew, and she took a long, slow moment to readjust it to cover her, delicate movements that placed the fabric precisely into its place. She didn’t need to look to know she had the rapt attention of Lady Suelius. 

She smiled at the Legatus and gave a small, polite bow, which he smiled at in return, rolling his eyes slightly. Then, subtly, she looked at him and tilted her head ever so slightly towards the Celtic slave, still sitting on the floor, and ran her tongue over her lips. Philo gave an exaggerated sigh, turning towards the side of the box where Senator Suelius was filling a plate with food - grapes, ripe cheese, and a dark bread that had been baked that morning. He appeared to have decided that he wanted to be as far away from the Legatus fucking his slave as possible. Philo called out to him, drawing his attention back. 

“Senator, I was thinking - there could be another way to settle our debt than exchanging coins…” Smiling still, Nabila walked over to the Celtic woman and helped her to her feet.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I am a new author and appreciate any feedback to help improve my work for future audiences.


End file.
